Journey's End
by AnabelleG
Summary: For Booth and Brennan, does the journey end with lovers meeting...or a kiss under the mistletoe? Or is it simply the beginning?
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: The quote Angela referenced in The Priest in the Churchyard has been scrawled in one of my notebooks for a long time…and after the mistletoe kiss, I couldn't help but wonder…for Booth and Brennan, did the journey really end with lovers meeting, or was it just the beginning? And trying to find an answer turned into a story idea…**

**Many, many thanks to Wills for her support and encouragement in getting this story onto the page. **

**Hope you enjoy! –AnaG**

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**_Journey's End_**

_O, mistress mine, where are you roaming?  
O, stay and hear; your true love's coming,  
That can sing both high and low:  
Trip no further, pretty sweeting;  
Journeys end in lovers meeting,  
Every wise man's son doth know._

_-Twelfth Night, II, iii_

She was on the run.

Standing completely still over a table of bones covered by a canvas tent in the middle of the South American jungle. Visible to at least half a dozen graduate students at that exact moment. But, still, on the run.

It had only taken her three days into the trip to admit it to herself. Three days of picking up the satellite phone to call him because a day without hearing his voice felt incomplete. Three days of turning to look over her shoulder, expecting to find him there because he always was.

So why was she still in El Brujo, two weeks beyond her original commitment?

_Because you're afraid._

_No. No, I'm not. _

_Fear has nothing to do with it. Nothing at all._

She swiped at the sweat beading on her forehead, annoyed at the thoughts that refused to retreat. Drawing her mouth into a determined line, she bent over the mottled surface of a femur. After several minutes of frustrated focus, she placed the magnifier on the wooden surface and gripped the edge of the table. Head bowed, she closed her eyes. The scent of loamy earth and aged bones receded. The cloying humidity dissipated and the incessant trills of insects faded. And she allowed the memory to return.

_Like brother and sister. Colleagues. French people meeting on the street._

But it hadn't been. It had been…Booth. She had lied to herself. Thought that it could be compartmentalized into a Christmas favor between two friends. That the strong flicker of curiosity of what it would be like to kiss him was completely natural and wasn't a factor.

What consequences could there be? All she had to do was close her eyes and count to five.

Back in the rainforest of Peru, she gave a short derisive laugh at how blind she had been. How foolish.

She had remained rational for…oh, far less than one of Caroline's damn 'steamboats'. An instant to process the fact that she was kissing Booth, that this is what it felt like to kiss Booth. To catalogue the sensation of his lips against hers, the feel of his breath against her skin, the proximity of his body to hers. A fraction of second to understand that she had wanted to kiss him, had wanted _him_.

After that she had been lost. Had lost herself. Even weeks later, she could feel the flush of heat in her cheeks as she recalled the moment when she realized she was clutching the lapels of his coat, that Caroline was there, that she had crossed the line between matter-of-fact and…

"Bones, are you okay?"

_Booth._

Heart instantly racing, she looked up, expecting to find him there, waiting for her with a smile on his face. Instead, she found herself looking into the concerned eyes of one of the grad students assigned to her team.

"Wh-what did you call me?"

"Dr. Brennan? I'm sorry. I just asked if you were okay. You were…"

She stared blankly at the young woman, the wake of the adrenaline slumping her shoulders, leaving behind dismay at the pronounced disappointment that he hadn't come after her.

"Dr. Brennan?"

Suddenly weary of it all, she stood and slowly stripped the latex gloves from her hands as she looked around the makeshift workspace. It seemed so foreign to her now. How had she become this person? The rational explanations built around anthropological inevitabilities and simple biological reactions had fallen by the wayside, all of the emotions bleeding out of the compartments that she had assigned them. It was affecting her work and…

"I…I think I just need to get some rest. Would you mind…?"

She waved her hand over the remains and tools scattered over the table. The girl quickly set to work preparing the items for storage, still talking as she gathered the scattered equipment.

"Sure, Dr. Brennan. No problem. You've been working crazy hours since you arrived.

And the canteen is still open. Maybe a good meal will…"

At the young woman's words, Brennan felt an involuntary smile form on her face, then fall away.

"I will. Thanks, Susan."

"It's Sarah. And you're welcome."

The correction was lost on Brennan, who had already turned away, oblivious to the curious expression on the face of the young woman watching her exit from the tent.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: First…a tremendous thanks to everyone for reading and for the reviews. After a protracted bout with the block-that-must-not-be named, and venturing into what feels like new territory for me with this story….your comments mean more to me than you could know. Now here we go…the next chapter…and time to find out how Booth is handling the situation. Hope you enjoy! AnaG**

**And…to Wills…your help was just leaps and bounds beyond a beta…this chapter definitely wouldn't have been the same without your insight. -A

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_She was on the run._

Once the thought entered his head, he couldn't get rid of it. And as he stared into the untouched glass of whiskey on the bar in front of him, he knew it was true. A part of him had known since he'd returned from Vermont to find that she'd left for Peru without saying goodbye.

After dropping Parker off with Rebecca, he'd spent the entire trip back thinking about what happened under that mistletoe. About what he thought he'd heard in her voice that night on the phone. And mile after mile, he remembered how he had felt standing there in the snow, watching her from the other side of a prison fence. He hadn't figured out a single thing, except that they needed to talk. He'd just assumed she would be there.

_Not a crisis, Bones. Just mistletoe._

Even now, he couldn't believe what a piss-poor lie that had been. His reaction to that kiss had confirmed what he'd known for awhile now. But there were rules. Responsibilities. _Boundaries._

_It was nothing…totally sexless._

Hell, maybe he was making something out of nothing. Maybe it hadn't meant what he thought. She'd certainly had no trouble flying off to Peru, staying gone for weeks. He wouldn't be surprised if she'd slapped some anthropological label on the whole deal and just filed it away.

But that kiss. That night at the prison. She'd been the one…that wasn't…he hadn't misread her. Had he?

Sensing the cycle in his logic beginning to repeat yet again, he shook his head and picked up his glass. This. This was _exactly_ why partners should stick to just being partners.

_Damn it._

He knocked back the shot of whiskey and placed the empty on the bar, the sound of glass against wood a coda to his tangled reasoning, at least for that night.

Jaw clenched, Booth took a step closer to Zach. When he saw the squint's eyes widen in alarm, he felt a small tug of guilt. But that was quickly quashed somewhere between the unending aggravation and the pounding in his head.

"One more word, Zach, I swear and…"

Cam stepped between them, ending the threat before it began.

"Okay, boys. Cease fire. Zach, go find something else to work on."

"What should I…"

"I don't care. Burn some spam. Drown some sea chimps. Use your imagination."

"But, Dr. Saroyan, I don't …"

"Now, Zach. Or next time, you're on your own."

Without waiting to see if Zach complied, she turned to Booth.

"And you. In my office."

"C'mon, Cam…"

But she was already walking away, expecting him to follow. He ran his hand over his face, wondering just how lousy this day could get. Resigned, he turned to follow, missing the knowing look between Angela and Hodgins.

"What I wouldn't give to be a fly on the wall in that room…hey, Hodgins, where are you going?"

"Didn't you hear? Cam just gave permission for experiments. Unlimited experiments."

By the time he entered the office, Cam was seated behind her desk, arms crossed as she waited. He felt his irritation returning as he sat across from her.

"You know, I could have done without being called to the principal's office in front of the whole lab."

"Well, I could do without you taking out your frustration on Zach every …"

"Come on, you know what he's like."

"Yes, I know. But he's trying. And I'm afraid you're stuck with him until Brennan gets back, so…"

"Fine. Got it. Be nice to Captain Roboto until Brennan is through digging up bones in El Brouhaha or wherever the hell it is. Are we done here?"

He stood up, thinking that put an end to the entire episode. He was more than ready to get out of the there and back to the normal world.

"No."

Her response stopped him cold.

"No? I already said that…"

"The issue with Zach is only part of the problem. Since you found out that Dr. Brennan extended her stay in Peru…"

Not liking where this was headed, he tried to cut her off.

"That has nothing to do with it."

"Really, Seeley?"

"Really…_what_, Camille?"

Suddenly weary, his words were soft, laced with both a warning and wariness. She heard both; he saw it in her face as she leaned back in her chair, staring at him. He willed her to leave it be, but he knew Cam well enough to know that wasn't going to happen. Still, he wasn't expecting what came out of her mouth next.

"You know, in all the time I've know you, I've never taken you to be a fool."

"Excuse me? What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"We both know why you've been walking around with your shorts in a twist the last two weeks. Maybe it's time you admitted what's going on and then…"

"Nothing is going on. Nothing. The fact that Brennan decided to…"

"You're in love with her."

"That's it. I am _not_ having this conversation with you."

Knocked off-balance by the direct confrontation, resenting her presumption, he started to leave and missed the fleeting smile that crossed Cam's face.

"What? I don't even get to hear that lame-ass 'we're just partners' line?

He stopped, hand on the door. He didn't know what made him turn back, why he responded when he knew he should just leave before it got any worse.

"For the record, it's not a _line_…"

"Oh, please. I know…"

He moved closer, determined to make her understand.

"Look, I don't care what you or Angela or every squint in the whole damn Jeffersonian think you know, but…"

She stood her ground, meeting his glare with an understanding that softened the edges of his resentment.

"I know you, Seeley. I was going to say that I know you. And I'm your friend. Or at least I'd like to think we are. Friends."

Suddenly weary, tired of the conversation, even more tired of carrying the thoughts running through his mind, he sat heavily in the chair he'd abandoned.

"Yeah, Cam. We are. But…"

"I know you don't want to talk about this…"

"Good call."

"….but it's written on your face anytime you're in the same room with her. It's in your eyes when you walk in and she's not there. A person would have to blind not to see it."

Not seeing any safe ground, he remained silent as she sat in the chair next to him.

"Brennan and I, we've had our differences…"

"You think?"

"Nice try, but don't try to change the subject. We've had our differences in the past, but she's good for you, Booth. There's something in you that she settles. When you're together, you seem a little less lost. Both of you."

"It's not that simple."

"Let me guess. Risky job. Those pesky boundaries and rules…"

Given their history, he was surprised by the lightness in her tone.

"You of all people should understand that."

"You're right. It happens. But, people get hurt all the time, whether it's Epps or something else, whether you're in a relationship or not…"

"But…"

She placed a hand on his arm, silencing him.

"But I also know that when it is important enough, when you love someone enough, you find a way to make it work."

"Cam, I didn't…I wasn't…ah, hell."

He looked away from her, from the implication of words. When he turned back, he was surprised to find the slight smile on her face.

"Seeley, it's okay. You and I, we were what we were. We both knew."

"I was trying to do the right thing."

"You did. For both of us. Now you have a choice. Waste enough time being afraid of what might happen, and you'll lose it anyway."

He opened his mouth to respond when a loud crash came from the direction of the lab, followed by a strangled yelp.

"What was that?"

Cam was already on her feet. "My guess? Zach's imagination just imploded. Listen, I've got to go rein in the circus. Are you…"

"Yeah…..hey, Cam?"

She paused at the door.

"Thanks."

She nodded, and started to speak, before another clatter from outside the office drew her attention. She opened the door, but then turned back.

"Just tell her, Seeley. Before it's too late."

He stood, watching as she walked towards the group of squints clustered at one corner of the platform.

_Before it's too late._

_She was on the run._

The two thoughts chased each other in his mind, and he walked from the empty room, another joined in.

_What if he was already too late?_


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Thanks to everyone for reading...and for the feedback. It truly means the world. And now...the next chapter. Brennan is on her way to figuring out what is _really_ weighing on her mind...Hope you enjoy! -AnaG

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**She'd accepted a plastic cup of the deceptively sweet local brew discovered and now beloved by the grad students, and then hovered around the edge of the crowd long enough to make her presence known, to seem like a member of the team. They were a good group, deserved the celebration of the near end of a successful dig, but her heart wasn't in it. 

As soon as she could, she made her way to the work area, the sounds of the party receding behind her. Placing the untouched cup on a nearby bench, she surveyed her refuge, grateful to find it completely deserted. Exactly as she usually found it on those nights when she couldn't sleep, when her brain wouldn't stop processing the endless possibilities.

The daylight hours held their own difficulties, but the nights were worse. The empty hours that gave her mind enough time to travel the distance to the harder questions, beyond the implications of physical response to the real heart of the matter.

The kiss— the kiss had been so much more than she had been prepared for, but if she tried hard enough, she could almost couch it in rational terms. The tougher part, the one that was keeping her awake at night, was what had happened later.

_I love my gift, Booth._

It was the truth. She had loved the tree, and that moment crystallized exactly how much he meant to her, what he meant to her. The trouble came only after she turned away from that window, when the doubts started to eat away at the edges of her certainty.

It began when, surrounded by her family commenting on his kindness, his understanding, she realized how much he was woven into the fabric of her life. Work. Family. Relationships. With the exception of the field work that she did abroad, she was hard pressed to identify a single aspect of her life that he wasn't a part of, or at the very least, influenced. He understood her more than anyone had since before her family had disintegrated. Probably more. Definitely more.

A kind, sensitive, caring, protective man, a _good_ man, that not only understood, but accepted, her for what she was. She didn't understand why that frightened the hell out of her. More than the possible impact to their work, the work that was a part of who she was. More than the potential risk that seemed to be such a factor for Booth. It made no sense. Why had it been the _safety_ of falling in love with him that sent her running?

The question, if not the answer, had followed her that night on the drive from the prison. Not until she saw the corner of the unused plane ticket peeking from her satchel did she begin to understand. The thought of Peru had immediately sparked comparisons between the nature of the work that she would have done there, had done in the past, with the investigations that were a part of her life in D.C.

Her life had changed so much. She had changed. And so much of it was due to Booth's presence in her life. She'd wanted to be more than a lab rat, and he'd given her that. In so many ways, he'd opened another world for her, and not simply with the fieldwork. He'd interpreted for her, guided her through that world. Challenged and supported her in the search for a different perspective.

It wasn't that she didn't value what he'd done for her. She couldn't have done it without him. That was the problem. That once well-defined boundary, the one between herself and everyone else, was so blurred that she didn't recognize it. And that, that is what made the 'safe' choice terrifying for her.

Standing there, holding that boarding pass in her hand, she'd known that before she could be with him, she had to know who she was without him, that she could navigate that new world he'd shown her on her own. And even though Peru wasn't the whole world, at least it was a start.

Now, weeks later, as she absently wandered through the work space, she examined the magnifiers, scopes and forceps, the ubiquitous stacks of files on one table and the artists' renderings in the makeshift gallery, only to find her focus retracting back into the internal dialogue that had followed her here. The realization drove home the fact that work was no longer the reprieve, the hiding place, from the uncertainty of the rest of the world that it used to be.

Where did that leave her? Maybe it was time to go home, to confront the situation and reclaim her life. Or did it mean that for all the distance between Peru and D.C., it wasn't enough?

She sat at workbench, head falling into her hands, heavy with weariness and the weight of the thoughts plaguing her.

"What do I do now, Booth?" The words escaped in a whisper before she could reclaim them.

"Booth? Ah, so that explains why you haven't accepted our offer yet."

Brennan looked up to find Dr. Standish—Meredith—standing at the entrance to the room with a knowing smile on her face. Her own face flushed with embarrassment; she had developed a good working rapport with the woman, her counterpart, and assistant to the project's sponsor, Dr. Rukeyeser, but wasn't nearly comfortable with discussing this situation with her.

"I'm sorry, that wasn't what…"

"He's the one in that picture, right, with the suit and that smile? Who can blame you for not wanting to leave all of that…"

The other woman's words receded as Brennan's mind flashed on the picture on the tiny bedside table in her sleeping quarters, the one Dr. Standish had seen during one of her impromptu visits. A snapshot of the entire team, standing on the platform, with the two of them in the center, his arm around her shoulders.

"No." She interrupted Standish's monologue. "That's my team. And Booth, he's…my partner. That's all."

She winced inwardly at the brusque tone, the suddenly awkward expression on her colleague's face. But she had to put an end to this entire tangent.

However, the other woman quickly recovered, a mischievous glint returning to her eyes.

"Well, then, if that's the case, why don't you come join the party? Frank Smithson's there, and I'm pretty sure he wouldn't mind the chance to take your mind off of whatever's troubling you."

Brennan cringed at the thought; the arrogant, too-slick professor from Stanford had been hitting on her since she arrived, and couldn't seem to take a hint. Or straight-forward rejection, for that matter.

"No. I don't think that would be…appropriate." She replied, pulling a stack of lab notes towards her, in hopes that it would ward off any further attempts at luring her into being social.

"Yeah, he is a little much, isn't he? Okay, well you know where we are if you change your mind. If nothing else, there's plenty of that magic juice the kids have been drinking."

"Thanks. I'll keep that in mind." As the other woman turned to leave, she turned her attention back to the lab reports, suddenly at a loss as to what she was supposed to do with them.

"Dr. Standish?"

The other woman turned back, an expectant look on her face.

"Change your mind already?"

"No. If you would, please tell Dr. Rukeyeser, I'll have a decision for him tomorrow. About the job offer, I mean."

"Sure. Not a problem. And Dr. Brennan, I really hope that you'll be joining us."

Brennan forced herself to return the woman's smile until she finally departed, then released a heavy sigh.

All she had to do now was make a decision.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Journey's End hasn't been the easiest of stories I've written since I delved into fanfic…Frankie L and I have had some protracted negotiations over this one. But one thing that has helped immeasurably has been the wonderful feedback and encouragement. To each and every one of you,sincerely….thank you.**

**And to Wills. For once again pulling me back from the temptation of filing this one in the old circular file. You rock the socks, chica.**

**Now…on with the chapter. Hope you enjoy…..AnaG

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Booth sighed heavily as Hodgins rattled on about something he was sure was extremely scientific and just as indecipherable.

"Yeah, yeah. Want to get to the punch line sometime in the next century.?"

"Your bad guy likes his cigars. The kind that are supposed to stay 90 miles off the Florida coast…."

"So the killer smokes Cuban cigars. Why couldn't you just say that in the first place?"

"You know…never mind, not my business."

"Probably."

"I just thought with Brennan back in town today, you'd be in a better…"

"Hold up. She's back?"

"Technically, not yet..…"

"Hodgins." The warning in his voice was unmistakable.

"Hey, man, just trying to be precise. Angela's picking her up at the airport in an hour. I can't believe you didn't…"

Having all of the information he needed, Booth walked away from the squint in mid-commentary. Hodgins stared at the retreating figure before turning back to his microscope with a wry smile.

"Good luck, man."

xxxxxx

His eyes scanned the disembarking passengers, quickly dismissing a succession of unfamiliar faces. He ran a thumb along the edge of the poker chip that he'd dragged from his pocket the minute he'd seen that her flight was on time. It didn't take a genius to figure out why he was clinging to the damned thing like it was a security blanket. The easy part was behind him. Angela had handed over the flight information with a knowing look, but had remained mercifully quiet. His badge had gotten him past the security checkpoints to the gate with minimal bureaucratic fuss. No, the real gamble was still ahead of him.

The flow of people slowed to a trickle and the first of the flight crew began to appear on the concourse. His hand tightened around the poker chip as he wondered where she was, if she had stayed in Peru after all. He reached in his pocket for the slip of paper Angela had given him and was checking the gate number when he heard it—the sound of a raised voice coming from the corridor. The words weren't clear, but it was a voice he knew as well as his own.

A pair of flight attendants appeared next, the relief on their faces obvious, the wheels of their small suitcases spinning as they made their escape. He felt an amused sympathy for them; hours in an enclosed space, miles above the earth, with a cranky Brennan couldn't have been easy for the uninitiated. Mostly though, as he waited for her to appear, he was comforted by the idea that whatever had happened in Peru, that there were some things that hadn't changed.

And then he saw her.

She'd turned away, throwing back a final word to the red-faced steward behind her. He could only see her profile, a hint of a cheekbone, the curve of her neck, but it was all that he needed in order to be certain. The internal debate, the conversation with Cam, every boundary he'd established, all of it vanished into one memory.

…_we complete each other…_

He had never been as sure of anything as he was in that moment. She was home, and he was complete. Until she turned and saw him standing there. The slight widening of her eyes, the almost hidden falter in her steps. She recovered quickly, but his eyes had met hers, and he knew her well enough to see it; to understand what it meant. His hand tightened again, the curve of the talisman pushing into his palm as she walked towards him.

"Booth? Where's…why are you here?"

"What, Bones? Aren't you happy to see me?" The smile was tight on his face as he pushed a light-hearted tone into his words.

"No. I mean, yes. Of course I am."

She released her grip on the handle of her bag, reaching to briefly put her arms around him. A delayed greeting, a 'supposed-to' hug, he knew, but he still had to stop himself from holding onto her from an extra fraction of a second before she stepped back.

They stood there, neither prepared to deal with the discomfort that had intruded between them. He cleared his throat, breaking the stalemate as he reached for her suitcase.

"Well, let's get you out of here before the stewardesses decide to…"

"Flight attendants, Booth. And that was not my fault."

"Oh no, of course not."

"It wasn't." She insisted. "It was a long flight."

"And?"

"And….I simply made one little suggestion."

"A little one, hm?"

"Yes, regarding their efficiency. But I was very diplomatic."

His laugh surprised him. It came from the habit of their rhythm, but he welcomed it, as he did the small push against his arm it earned.

"Right, Bones. I'm sure that call from the State Department will be coming any day now."

Her retort was quick, and the bantering continued as they made their way along the concourse. With each step, he felt them returning to steadier ground, and somewhere between Gate 13C and 9F, he began to think that maybe, maybe he really hadn't seen what he thought he had.

He placed an arm around her shoulders, bringing her a little closer to him as they walked.

"It's good to have you back, Temperance."

And he pretended not to register the short pause before she responded, and when she did, chose not to notice the fact that the fleeting smile didn't reach her eyes.

xxxxx

"Here we are. Home sweet home."

Placing her bags near the end of the sofa, he groaned inwardly at the forced cheeriness in his words. He wasn't buying it, and knew she wasn't either. The drive from the airport to her apartment had been a minefield; a conversation that skirted around the undercurrents. For a few miles, here and there, they'd found themselves slipping into their old rhythms, only to be knocked off balance by the things they were keeping from each other.

…_before it's too late…_

Even as he watched her, shrugging off her jacket, flipping through the stack of mail left on her table; listened as she thanked him, asked if he wanted a beer, he sensed it that it already was. That for every line between them that he was ready to erase, she had drawn one of her own.

"Booth?"

"Wh-what? Um, sorry, Bones. I've got…I should go."

"Oh. Okay."

"See, Parker's got this project for school and I…well, you know how it is."

"Yeah, sure. I understand."

Her expression was neutral, but there was a trace of disappointment in her tone that made him hesitate, but only for a moment.

"So. Tomorrow then? At the lab?"

He hurried towards the door, not waiting for her response. Tomorrow, tomorrow there would be time to get his head straight, to figure out how to fix them. But for now, he just needed to be…away.

"Wait! Booth…"

He stopped, not sure he was willing to wager what might come next. But in the end, he couldn't walk away. Not like that.

"Yeah, Bones?" He turned, his eyes falling to the box she held in hands. He studied the silver paper and the precise red ribbon in silence.

"Your present. For Christmas. I never—before I left I meant to…" Her words trailed away as she held out the gift.

He hesitated before reaching to take it from her hands.

"Thanks, I…"

"You could open it. I mean, if you don't have to leave. I'll understand if…"

There was an unspoken apology behind her words, but also an uncertainty in her voice that echoed his own doubts, that drew his eyes to hers, drew him back.

"No. I can—I can do that."

He slid the ribbon from the box, looking away long enough to tear away the wrapping paper.

"You'll probably think it's silly…"

"No, I'm sure that…"

He lifted the lid, brushing aside the layer of tissue paper to see the gift she had chosen. A grey cashmere scarf, a beautiful replacement for the ordinary cotton one that had been ruined at a crime scene. He couldn't help but wonder why she would have thought it silly, when he saw the flash of electric blue from beneath the grey. Removing the scarf, he stared down at the carefully folded shirt beneath it, at the bold red and yellow lines moving across its center.

…_not really Wonder Woman and Clark Kent. We're Brennan and Booth._

"If you don't like it, I can…"

He interrupted, a slow shake of his head stopping her. Still not looking away from the shirt, he spoke, his throat constricting around the words.

"What's happening to us?"

"Booth, don't…"

He looked up sharply, meeting her eyes with both plea and demand.

"No, Temperance. Whatever it is, I need to…Just say it."

She closed her eyes, and he waited, knowing that whatever came on the other side of the silence could change them forever.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: I am so sorry that it has taken me so long to update this story. Things went a little haywire with the muse for a bit, but we are getting things back on track! Thanks once again to everyone that has read, and to those that have provided great feedback and encouragement. It means the world! -Ana**

It was all her fault. She hadn't been prepared to see him there at the airport, never anticipated the strength of her reaction to him. With thousands of miles between them, she had been sure that she had analyzed every complexity of her emotions. Suddenly turning to find him standing a few feet away, every piece of logic she'd cobbled together flew apart in the face of one simple truth. She loved him. The certainty soared through her, overwhelming every nerve ending and silencing every thought, until the moment it collided with the decision she had made. It should have taken hours for her life to change, but it had only been a fraction of a second. Long enough for her to falter. Enough time for him to notice.

…_aren't you happy to see me…_

She knew she'd hurt him, and not just with her hesitation. All of it—the extended silence from Peru, not telling him she was coming home, her apparent reticence to fall into the familiar patterns of their relationship—all of it had caused that wounded look in his eyes, the one that he tried so hard to hide.

He understood her too well not to know that something had shifted between them, and she had been too off balance to maintain the pretense that it hadn't, was struggling too hard to gather the scattered rationalizations she needed to shore up her defenses.

The decision she'd made was the right one, made for the right reasons. She had to believe that, for both of their sakes. But it was going to be so hard to explain, to find the right words to tell him. How was she supposed to tell the man she loved—the man that, for all of her shortcomings in deciphering human behavior, she thought loved her right back—how did she tell him that she was leaving?

…_whatever it is…just tell me…_

Eyes still closed, she could sense him waiting, watching as he waited for her to answer his question. Taking a deep breath, she opened her eyes, her gaze falling first to his hands gripping the scarf and shirt she'd given him. A lifetime ago, she had worried over her choices—one seemed too distant, too much a gift between colleagues, the other a touch of whimsy that spoke of a deeper understanding. Only now could she see how each represented the two layers of their lives together, how…

"I'm too late, aren't I?"

Startled by his words, she looked up quickly, meeting his eyes, and knew that she couldn't keep this from him any longer.

"No, Booth. Not you. Me. I'm the one that…"

His short, sharp laugh stopped her, moving her back a half-step.

"Wh-what? Booth, I…"

"Spare me the 'it's not you, it's me' speech, okay? It's been done." He paused and closed the distance between them. "And we—you're better than that."

He was so close she thought she could see her own reflection over the flare of hurt and challenge in his eyes. Her resolve weakened, and in that moment, she wanted nothing more than to reach for him, to soothe the tension from the planes of his face and tell him that everything that was in her heart. She started to speak, moved her hand towards his, but then, he stepped away.

"Still can't say it, Brennan? Why don't you let me give it a shot?" He turned away from her, placing her gifts on a nearby table as he moved deeper into the room. "You're leaving, aren't you? Going back to wherever the hell it is you've been since…"

His back to her, his words faded into silence. She didn't question how he knew. Of course he did. Somehow, he always seemed to know.

"Yes."

She saw him flinch as the single word, softly spoken, landed hard in the space between them.

"It is only a few months. A year at most. And I won't be in Peru, but…"

He interrupted, turning back to face her.

"Does it really matter, Bones?" He began pacing the length of the room, arms moving as he talked. "You're really going to leave the Jeffersonian, the squints and…the cases. Just like that…"

"None of this is easy for me. You have to know that."

He stopped short, crossing his arms his arms over his chest as he studied her face. For a moment, she thought there was a chance that he understood at least that much. Then his face grew still, and he spoke.

"I don't know, Temperance. Sounds pretty straightforward to me. Seems like you made your decision without too much trouble."

His words stung as she remembered all of the sleepless nights she'd experienced and for the first time, her anger rose to meet his. She stalked over to him, unwilling to concede one ounce of the difficulty she'd faced in making that decision.

"That—that is not fair, Booth. Not true and not fair!"

"Hey, don't talk to me about 'not fair', okay? _Not fair_ is my partner deciding to walk out on me without even talking to me first. _Not fair_ is the hearing that the woman I…"

The sentence went unfinished, his eyes widening and then dropping to the floor. The unspoken words rang in the silence, dousing the anger and frustration that had risen between them and drawing her closer to him. Given the circumstances, she knew it was selfish, even cruel to ask it of him, but she wanted, needed him to say those words. Gently, she placed her hand over his.

"The woman that you…what, Booth?"

Not at all certain that he would answer, she waited, her gaze fastened on the hand she still held. She heard the deep, unsteady breath he took and saw the contraction of muscle along his jaw, and started to step away. But his hand turned, tightened on hers and drew her closer. There was one more moment of silence, one trace of his thumb along the back of her hand—and then he raised his eyes to hers.

He didn't say the words, but he didn't have to. His face stripped of the defensive anger, of every shred of self-protection that he had mustered, it was all there for her to see. Raw and unadorned, it flowed from him with a clarity that left her breathless. Love. Need. Desire. Everything that she felt magnified and reflected back at her with such intensity that it blinded her to anything else.

Heart racing, her eyes drifted to his mouth as she leaned into him, falling into the memory of his lips on hers. So close again. All she had to was….

She came to her senses, backing away as she realized what she had almost done.

"I'm sorry, Booth. I shouldn't…I shouldn't have done that."

He looked at her, one moment stunned at the swift change in her demeanor, then next, grim acceptance taking hold.

"That's what this is about isn't it? Why you are running away?"

"I'm not…"

"I knew it! Knew this would happen if we ever…that damn prank of Caroline's. It should have never happened. One stupid move, one stupid kiss and….it leads to this."

"It wasn't stupid. Not to me."

"No. No, it wasn't. But what is it going to cost us? What is all of it going to cost us in the end?"

"Booth…"

She moved away, unable to face him because now, after this night, she knew the answer to his question. Her eye fell on the bright blue of the shirt he'd discarded and she absently reached for it. She continued, her fingers blindly creasing and folding the soft fabric as she spoke softly.

"While I was away, I thought about us. A lot. About our partnership, our….kissing you, what it meant. How I felt. How I felt about how I felt. It became this endless…" She sat down on the sofa with a heavy sigh, remembering the confusion of those days. "I couldn't concentrate, and for awhile, I was completely irrational about all of it."

"Now why do I find that hard to believe?" He raised an eyebrow as he sat down across from her.

"Well, maybe I exaggerated a little." She offered a wry smile in return, grateful for the small interlude, before returning the matter at hand. "But it wasn't easy, Booth, not at all. There I was in this beautiful place, these amazingly preserved sets of remains to study, a fantastic job offer on the table. And the only thing I could think about was you. But in the end, I knew that even though I was in love with you, I had to…"

"You love me?"

The blend of hope and confusion on his face made her ache inside. God help her, she hadn't meant to say that, hadn't wanted to make this any more difficult. But now that she had said those words, there was no way she would ever, could ever, take them back.

"Yes."

"And you're leaving anyway."

"I have to."

"Why? If you meant what you said, if you really…"

"Because it's not enough. Please understand. I need to know that I…"

She stopped talking as he grew still, his eyes shuttered with a blankness that she'd never seen. And she knew then that she had chosen the wrong words. There were a dozen explanations full of painstaking logic behind them, but he wouldn't hear any of it. Not now.

The only thing that he heard was that _he_ wasn't enough.

"Well, then. That says it all, doesn't it?" He stood and began to walk towards the door. Away from her.

"Booth, wait. Please, I didn't mean that you…"

"Temperance. Stop. Don't you think—I think maybe we've both said enough."

She started to respond, not wanting him to leave, not like this. But she saw the wet sheen in his eyes, and even as his features blurred under the weight of her own tears, she knew he was right. Talking wouldn't accomplish anything more than it already had.

"Alright then." He accepted her silent acknowledgement with a short nod and then left, the door closing softly behind him.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Thanks to everyone for the reviews and for reading...and apologies as well for taking so long to update. This chapter just got the best of me for a while. That being said, things should be flowing a little better from this point...parts of the next two chapters are already written (the muse being of the non-sequential sort lately), so promise that the wait will not be nearly as long! Hope you enjoy. -Ana**

**And a huge thanks to my beta whose insight and support quite literally saved this chapter. -A.**

* * *

Eyes traveling from her watch to the suitcase at her feet and then the silent phone cradled in her hand, she fought the temptation to check the battery level or signal strength for the third time in as many minutes. He knew she was leaving today.

…_I think maybe we've both said enough_…

Perhaps he was right. She didn't know. It didn't feel right though, this silence between them. How had they reached this point? She pressed a thumb into the rounded edge of the phone. Maybe she should…

"Bren? The guys are waiting downstairs."

Startled, she looked up to find Angela standing in the open doorway.

"Yes, of course. Sorry, I was just…" She sighed and ran a hand through her hair. What was she doing? Sinking into a nearby chair, she stared at her hands and avoided the knowing look forming in her friend's eyes.

"He still hasn't called?" Angela asked, crossing the room to sit next to her.

She could only shake her head, uncertain what the ache in her chest would become if she tried to speak.

"Don't worry; I'm sure he will…"

Brennan dismissed the well-intended assurance with another shake of her head. She hesitated, then explained in an uneven whisper.

"I hurt him."

"Yes." Angela softly acknowledged the admission. The lack of judgment in the simple statement prompted Brennan to continue.

"But I made the right decision."

"Yes."

Again, Angela spoke with gentle understanding, but this time the same word carried the edge of certainty in its tone. Brennan started to reply but found herself silently staring at the other woman, her throat constricting around the words.

Angela saw the unspoken question in her eyes, knew that she was struggling with the paradox between the belief in her choice and its consequences.

"Do you remember what I told you when you were all confused about sailing off to paradise with Sully?"

"Ange, this has nothing to do with…." Brennan stopped when she noticed Angela's raised eyebrow. "You said, 'Go'."

"Exactly."

"To be precise, you said it four times. Pretty emphatically too. If I didn't know any better, I'd think you wanted to get rid of me."

"Nah. I just wanted the excuse to visit you in Barbados."

Brennan shook her head, smiling in spite of herself. But the momentary relief from the tension quickly faded.

"I don't understand the comparison. Then you thought I should leave with Sully, and now that I should leave…."

"Sweetie, what I wanted then, what I want now, is for you to be happy. And a part of me thinks, _knows_ that you need to leave this place and…."

"But…" She began to ask another question, but Angela stopped her with a shake of her head.

"Listen. Go. Find a great big slice of the world, tear it up and make it your own. Find out who you are without all of this to hide behind, to protect you from being hurt…"

Brennan started to argue, but the reflex to defend herself was lost as she recognized Angela's words echoed her own reasoning.

"….and by the time you come back, maybe you'll realize what the people closest to you have know for a long time."

"Which is?"

"That you are stronger, braver, than you ever give yourself credit for…with or without the crime-fighting, gun-toting, psycho-chasing…"

"You mean with or without Booth."

"Yeah, Bren. I do. And when you come back, he'll…."

A knock against the doorjamb interrupted her, and both women looked up to find Zach staring nervously at them.

"What is it, Zach?" Angela asked impatiently.

"Hodgins said to tell the girls to get in gear unless they wanted to be late. Hodgins said that. Not me. Me, I think it would be okay if Dr. Brennan missed her plane. Not that missing a plane is a good thing. Especially if the ticket is non-refundable but…"

"Zach?" Brennan patiently interjected into the middle of his rapid fire delivery.

"Yes, Dr. Brennan?"

"Please tell Hodgins that we'll be right down."

"Okay. I can do that." He responded, and then, without missing a beat, he turned and left.

The weight of their earlier conversation lightened by Zach's interruption, she and Angela exchanged a look of unspoken amusement.

"He did have a point though. I don't want to miss my flight." Brennan sighed, and then stood to gather the last of her things.

"I'm gonna miss you, you know." Angela said quietly.

"Me too." Brennan whispered

"No tears. You promised." Angela chided as she swiped at her eyes.

"I know, but…." Suddenly realizing that words weren't enough, Brennan leaned forward, hugging Angela tightly. "Thank you."

Angela returned the hug, offering one last piece of advice before stepping away.

"Just give him time, Bren. He'll understand."

_He'll understand._

The weight of the silent phone heavy in her pocket, she hoped her friend was right. But Angela hadn't been there to see him walk away.

xxxxxxx

_It doesn't matter._

Forty-five minutes into the game he had no idea what the score was. Halfway through a bowl of chips even though they tasted like nacho-flavored cardboard. And he was still telling himself the same thing. That it didn't matter that she was leaving today.

If only he believed it.

He pointed the remote at the television, silencing the squawk of the play-by-play, and tossed it onto the coffee table. For a moment, he focused on the film of dust on the blank screen and dabbled with the idea of dealing with cleaning up the place. But the diversion lasted only as long as it took to think of it.

More than a little disgusted with the little pity party he was throwing, he sighed and levered himself out of the chair then headed into the kitchen. Pointedly ignoring the cell phone resting on the counter, he opened the refrigerator and started to reach for a beer. Then, with a shake of his head, he slammed the door shut and stared at it, not seeing the haphazard display of magnets and hockey schedules and take-out menus posted on its surface.

It was well past time for him to shake the brooding funk he was in, the one that had been following him ever since….

…_it's not enough…_

...ever since he'd walked away without giving her a chance to explain. He knew he was acting little better than a two-year-old stamping his foot because he couldn't have his way. Or some high school schmuck pining away for the girl that had broken his heart. Not the rational adult that recognized that he was too busy being hurt to be fair, to try to understand.

But that was the problem, wasn't it? Love, hurt, need, heartbreak. None of it was rational, none of it fit into neat, nicely labeled boxes that made any kind of sense. No matter how hard he tried. No matter how much she….

…_Please understand. I need to know that I…_

Turning, he leaned against the counter and laced his arms over his chest. His eye fell to the phone sitting atop the butcher block surface, almost entranced by the small icon insistently blinking on the display.

The truth was that he did understand. Deep down, a part of him had understood even as he had walked away from her that night. A lifetime of protecting herself from being hurt, that didn't disappear overnight. And even if it had, even if falling in love with him had changed that, she would still need to…

He reached for the phone, turning it over so that he didn't have to see the blinking light indicating a new message was waiting. Because there was another truth that he had to acknowledge. The one that ratcheted up the ache in his chest and made him feel more than a little pathetic. The one that kept him silent even though he knew it had to be causing her pain.

It was the reason he hadn't answered the call when her name had registered on the display, that he had left her to say whatever she had to say on voicemail.

If she had changed her mind, if there had been any kind of last minute reprieve, she would be here, with him, not leaving a message on his phone. Pushing away from the counter, he returned to the fridge and grabbed for a bottle of beer.

So, fine. Call it whatever. Tantrum. Adolescent retaliation. Pouting. Brooding. He wouldn't—couldn't—listen to a message explaining why she had to go. Or listen to her say goodbye.

He went back to the den, searching out the remote and a little more distraction.

The other truth was that right now, it didn't matter what she had to say.

Because whatever it was, even if she was said again that she loved him, even that would hurt too much.

xxxxxxx

Seatbelt securely fastened, carry-on carefully stowed beneath the seat in front of her. Novel that would never hold her attention resting in her lap. Tinny voice announcing that they were almost ready for takeoff.

Except that she wasn't so certain that she was.

"Miss? I'm sorry but I'm afraid that you are going to have to…"

Startled, she looked up to find the flight attendant gesturing to the cell phone she held in her hand, his mouth formed into a friendly smile that didn't quite match up with the expression in his eyes. A nuance that she might have missed not too long ago, before Booth had…

"Ma'am?" He spoke again, a slight arch in his eyebrow betraying his level tone.

"Yes, of course. I was just…." She flashed a smile, certain that it was just as forced as the one he wore, and powered down the phone.

Reaching down she slid the cell into the large pocket of her carry-on, her hand brushing against a tightly folded swatch of soft cotton, its unseen blue bright beneath her fingers.

And suddenly, for the first time since she had left her friends at the security gate, since those long night in Peru, she felt the smallest measure of peace with her decision.

He hadn't called. Maybe he hadn't listened to the message she had left just before boarding the plane. Or maybe he hadn't…forgiven her. Not yet.

But she would wait, trust that they could make it through anything. Even this.

She looked through the small window, at the runway rushing away beneath her and smiled. Genuinely, truly this time.

Because waiting. Trusting. She had learned that from him too.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: I am thoroughly embarrassed by how long it has taken me to update this story. No excuses...I just plain got stuck in a gaping hole in the plot. But the ideas are starting to flow again, so the next chapter shouldn't be so many months in the making. In the meantime, I truly hope that you enjoy this chapter of the journey! -Ana**

**And many thanks to my most wonderful of betas for the great advice on this one. It made all the difference. -A**

He barely had time to acknowledge the the young intern that entered his office to add another file to the stack on the corner of his desk before she hurried away like the hounds of hell were after her. Not that he blamed her. He was well aware of the reputation he had earned over the last few weeks. 'Approach with caution' was the polite version. 'Touchy bastard' was probably more accurate. And he didn't know what bothered him more—his behavior or the fact that everyone knew the reason for it.

'Screw it', he thought, dragging the new case folder across his desk. It didn't matter what anyone thought. Besides, a person was entitled to a period of adjustment after his partner…left. Right? He opened the file and studied the summary report on the first page, not realizing that he was holding his breath until he reached the most relevant section of the crime scene description. Plenty of flesh on the victim.

Which was definitely a good thing. Well, not for the poor guy that had been knifed, of course. But it did mean that he didn't have to come up with a reasonable explanation for avoiding the Jeffersonian. Cullen wasn't an idiot. It wouldn't be long before he called Booth on the carpet about shuffling assignments with other agents.

"Booth."

He looked up, unnerved to find the very person that he'd been thinking of standing in the doorway to his office. Taking in both the stone faced expression and the case file in his supervisor's hand, Booth realized that the jig was already up. His theory was confirmed when Cullen firmly shut the door.

"Sir?" He asked, standing as the other man crossed the room.

"I'm assigning you the Sommers case." Cullen said without preamble, tossing the file in the middle of Booth's desk where it landed with a dull thud.

Sommers. His mind immediately flashed to the charred skeleton found in the alleyway behind the Foggy Bottom townhouse owned by a retired federal judge. A real blueblood and former partner in a white shoe law firm inside the Beltway. The case was a stone cold whodunit, ripe with powerful political connections and tricky political situations. Not to mention plenty of bones.

"Sir, I thought Kincaid was working…"

"Yes. In exchange for you taking on two of his investigations. That's not the way things work around here, Booth."

"I closed both of those. Gave the U.S. Attorney slam dunk cases." Booth said, wincing at the defensiveness in his voice.

"So you will have plenty of time to work on Sommers." Cullen responded without hesitation.

"No disrespect sir, but I don't see why Kincaid can't…"

"Because Kincaid refuses to go back to that place. He said I could transfer him to the Fargo field office before he would work with the squints again."

Booth thought the idea of ridding the office of Kincaid wasn't a bad idea. The guy smelled like old cheese. But somehow he knew that Cullen wouldn't appreciate him pointing that out at the moment.

"What about Young or Sims?" He said instead, thinking of two other agents to whom he'd farmed out bone cases to recently.

"No. Once was enough for them too. Face it, Booth. You're the one here with the special touch with the squints. Apparently you speak their language."

_"And you're leaving anyway."_

_"I have to."_

_"Why? If you meant what you said, if you really…"_

"Not when it counted." Booth muttered under his breath, though judging from Cullen's raised eyebrow, still loud enough for the other man to hear him.

"Something you need to tell me, Booth?"

"No, sir. But…"

"Let me make this clear, then. This is an order, not a request. We need this one off the books. Now." Cullen said, nodding his head in the direction of the unopened file before turning to leave.

"Yes, sir." Booth replied and slumped down in his chair, only to straighten quickly when the other man stopped at the doorway.

"Time to suck it up, Booth." Cullen said, this time his gruff tone tempered with a paternalistic edge.

He stared through the open door long after Cullen walked away, the other man's words echoing in his head. Then, with a heavy sigh, he opened the Sommers file and began to read.

xxxxxxxxxx

Booth paced outside the door, with each circuit moving closer and then further away from the lab. On some level, he was more than ready to enter the familiar space, a place that he missed more than he would like to admit. But that was the same reason that he could not bring himself to walk through the door. Why he had avoided the place since she'd left. Too many reminders of too many things.

He stopped and stared at the blurred images moving behind the glass, thinking about what was on the other side. The problem wasn't simply hurt feelings or a bruised heart.

This place, was the biggest reminder of the life he had lived, the person that he had been, before things fell apart. He'd finally allowed himself to be content—to find accomplishment in his work, to be happy in the knowledge that he could look to his left or right and she would be there by his side. Not just as a partner, but as the person that understood him. That knew who he was.

It was a void that he faced every time he sat down in the diner, picked up a new case file, checked the display on his cell phone or closed his eyes to sleep at night. Sometimes it was a little easier, hurt a little less. Most of the time though, it hit him like a sledgehammer. And he knew that going into the lab, being forced to see himself through the eyes of people that knew them both, more importantly knew them together, would be worse than any of it.

Yet Cullen had made it pretty clear that if he didn't work the Sommers case, it wouldn't be Kincaid that ended up in Fargo. And Sommers meant bones and bones meant working with the squints.

Booth knew he didn't have a choice. But, he thought, that didn't mean he couldn't accomplish this on his own terms. Decision made, he pulled his cell phone from his pocket and began to scroll through the stored phone numbers..

How the hell it happened, he had no idea, but all the squints' numbers were programmed into his phone. Problem was, there wasn't a single one he could call to bring the evidence reports out to him. Hodgins would see it as a chance to bond. Angela…well, he knew what she thought. Forget Zach. And Cam would probably call him Seeley and then proceed to tell him that…

Of its own accord his thumb pressed the buttons to access his voicemail.

"You have…one….saved message."

As soon as he heard the robotic voice, he snapped the phone shut. He'd already listened to her last message enough times to have memorized it. Not just the words, but every inflection in her voice. The disappointment that he wasn't there to say goodbye. The hope when she asked him to call her.

But he hadn't called. At first, it had been all about bandaging his wounded pride with a hefty dose of anger. Then he buried himself neck deep in work and firmly in denial, telling himself that he was just too busy. Once that excuse wore thin, he was embarrassed about the length of his silence and what it said about him.

Most of all though—and it took him a long time to admit it—most of all he was afraid of what would happen once he made that call. After all the time that had passed, after all that they had said to each other that last time, would he have the right words now or would there be an uneasy tension between them? Or worse…would he find out that she was happy wherever she was—without him? And the longer he waited, the more the fear grew and the more the gulf widened.

Until he got to this point. A grown man, he thought, shaking his head in disgust, that could not walk through a door because squints were on the other side. That couldn't dial a phone to talk to the woman that he loved. Cullen was right, he told himself. Maybe it was time to suck it up.

Holding his breath as if trying to prevent the spark of courage from escaping him, he quickly entered the numbers and waited for the line to connect.

"Booth?"

It took him a moment to realize that the voice wasn't coming from the phone but from directly in front of him. Ignoring the hint of relief hiding behind his disappointment, he closed the phone and slid it into his pocket.

"Yeah, Cam?" He asked wearily.

xxxxxxxxxx

She entered the lobby and headed directly to the service desk and following the pattern she'd established the day that she registered at the hotel, sounded the small brass chime twice to summon the clerk.

"Any messages, Marco?"

"No, signorina."

"You're sure? Room 214?"

"No, I am most sorry but there are none."

Without responding, she turned away and headed to the stairs, suddenly exhausted by the weight of the bag she carried.

Back in her room, routine dispensed of the small tasks available to occupy her mind, and she found herself once again drawn to the small stone balcony. The hillside below her sloped gently towards the sea, the crystalline blue of the Mediterranean brilliant below a cloudless sky. The pristine beauty of the panorama did little to soothe her however.

Not even the most perverse logic could justify the disappointment that plagued her. She knew what it was like to be the one left behind, knew that even the most well-intentioned explanations did little to alleviate the pain that came with abandonment. This time the decision to leave had been hers and she had no right to the disappointment that came with his silence. It was a direct consequence of the path that she had chosen. The person that she had been just a very few years ago would have understood his reasons.

For so long, she had wrestled with the impact of being the one left behind. Now, as she turned her back on the vista below, for the first time she began to truly understand the weight of the grief that came with being the one that said good-bye.

Somehow she knew that this was a piece of whatever she'd set out to determine. But as her eye fell on the silent phone on the table next to her bed, she also couldn't help but wonder if the price she was paying for those answers was too high.


End file.
